you anchor me back down
by eponnia
Summary: Post-Canon. Marius and Cosette's wedding night is not what either expected it would be. [10th anniversary musicalverse Mosette one-shot]


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I love the 2012 film, but I'm sad that there's really no fics based on the stage musical any more, let alone the tenth anniversary concert. I literally grew up on the TAC, and I even had it on VHS. It** _ **was**_ **Les Mis for me, and honestly still is to this day; no other version, no matter how well done, will ever live up to that concert at the Royal Albert Hall in 1995. There's a reason it's officially called the Dream Cast.**

 **So, in an attempt to make up for the lack of TACverse fics, here's an angsty fic based on the incredible Michael Ball as Marius, the lovely Judy Kuhn as Cosette, mostly the musical/the TAC, and flavors of the book.**

 **The title is from** _ **Anchor**_ **by Mindy Gledhill.**

* * *

 _When all the world is spinning 'round_

 _Like a red balloon way up in the clouds_

 _And my feet will not stay on the ground_

 _You anchor me back down_

* * *

Cosette refuses to leave her father's body.

His rented house – not his home, never his _home_ , not like the one she had built with him at Rue Plumet – is absolutely and utterly and horribly quiet, but she can't bring herself to walk out the front door. She initially wants to stay in her father's room until morning, but Marius gently convinces her to at least sit in the parlor for the remainder of the night. Her husband of a few hours leads her from her father's side and into the hall; as the door clicks behind them, Cosette's heart drops into her stomach.

When they reach the parlor and she numbly sits down on the chaise lounge, Marius breaks the suffocating silence as he lights a few candles. "Are you certain you do not wish to leave?" he asks, watching her carefully.

"I cannot," she protests, voice breaking as she clutches the letter from her father. Toussaint had told her what to expect on her wedding night, but Cosette knows she will never be able to perform what Toussaint called _wifely duties_ so soon after her father's death. She flushes slightly at the thought of what should be happening after her wedding ceremony, but the color drains from her face again. "I _cannot_. Please do not ask me–"

Marius suddenly looks horrified and rushes to her side. "My darling, I would _never_ – Not after–" He clasps her small hands in his as he sits beside her. "I am not asking you to–" He turns even more red than his wife. "I only meant to rest, away from… this place. I did not mean–"

She manages a faint smile as he fumbles through his explanation. "I understand."

"If you wish to stay here tonight, then that is what we will do," he adds sincerely, and hesitates. "I will summon a coroner in the morning, then."

She nods mutely, an ache filling her chest as she thinks of her father in that room, alone and cold and gone. _He is not alone_ , she reminds herself, swallowing hard. _He is with the Lord_. But tears still prick at her eyes, and she draws in a trembling breath through her nose. Wordlessly, Marius wraps his arms around her.

Dimly, she is aware that this is the closest physical contact they have ever had; she is pressed to his chest as she weeps into his clothes, while one of his hands rests on her back and the other strokes her dark hair. But she dwells on this fact only briefly, and focuses instead on crying until she is sure her heart will break. Marius holds her and murmurs in her ear; it is his turn to comfort her, as she had for him after that terrible June day.

Eventually, she runs out of tears. Drained of all energy, Cosette straightens, Marius' hands falling from her hair and waist. The goosebumps that had formed on her skin are joined by light shivers shaking her body, her thin wedding gown offering little protection from the chill.

"Forgive me!" Marius cries, immediately removing his tailcoat and draping it across her shoulders. "I did not realize you were cold, my darling! How selfish I am–"

"It is not your fault," she says kindly. "Thank you," she murmurs, wrapping the garment more tightly around herself as he stands from the chaise lounge. As he kneels before the small, dark fireplace, in the candlelight she observes the barest hint of skin through the fabric of his shirtsleeves, the way his waistcoat pulls at his broad shoulder blades, and how his dark curls brush the collar of his white linen shirt.

Once the fire has come to life, Marius gets to his feet. "I am going to make tea."

"Let me assist you," Cosette says, starting to get up, but her husband crosses the room to take her hands in his again.

"Stay here where it is warm," he says kindly, and brushes his lips against her forehead. "I will not be gone long."

After he leaves with one of the candles, she watches the fire leap and crackle and flicker before determinedly getting to her feet, setting down the letter, and going after Marius. She follows the sounds coming from the depths of the house to locate the kitchen, and pauses in the doorway to observe him. He stokes the fire in the old stove and lifts the lid of the tea kettle, unaware of her presence. Cosette takes in the kitchen itself, wondering why her father had left the comforts of Rue Plumet for this place with the apparent intent of dying alone. She thinks of the envelope she had left in the parlor, but she cannot bring herself to open it just yet. She goes back to watching Marius.

In his fine suit, he looks both out of place yet also at ease in the nearly dilapidated kitchen. He had told her of his flat in the Gorbeau House; she knows just how rundown the apartments are, after living there briefly as a child with her father. She is aware that her husband worked to pay for the rent himself, even though his grandfather offered him a place in his lavish childhood home. She remembers the holes in Marius' shoes and fraying on the cuffs of his sleeves when they had courted in the garden of Rue Plumet. He knows what poverty is, and, looking down at her own scarred hands, she thinks that she might have distant memories where she does too. Not with her father, but _before_ –

But the kettle whistles sharply, interrupting her thoughts, and as Marius lifts the boiling kettle from the stove, Cosette steps forward. "May I help?"

He notices her standing there for the first time, and wearily nods. "Could you locate a tray, or at least something to drink from?"

"Of course." His coat still around her shoulders, she sets down her candle and starts opening cupboards; as she retrieves cheap tin cups and a rusted tray, she wonders again why her father had chosen to live like this when Gillenormand had offered him a place to stay in his mansion. When she sets the tray down on the rickety table and Marius pours the boiling water over the leaves, she thinks once more of how this must look, preparing tea at one in the morning while still in their wedding finery, not even an hour after her father-

She forces a smile to a concerned Marius, and as he returns the kettle to the stove, she lifts the tray. "Bring the other candle, darling?" she says softly, the candle on the tray faintly illuminating the darkness. As she goes out into the hallway, Marius is only a step behind.

They drink the tea in silence, and once the kettle is empty, they lean against each other. Cosette stares at the letter, willing herself to open it, but she cannot find the strength. Not yet. So instead, she rests her head on Marius' shoulder and closes her eyes, his temple coming to rest on the crown of her head.

They stay that way until dawn.


End file.
